


Choke

by thatonelesbianyouknow (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Asphyxiation, Black Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-10
Updated: 2011-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-24 11:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thatonelesbianyouknow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Darkleer. Your title does not matter. The things you’ve done for your superiors, and the Archeradicators, do not matter.</p><p>You are a traitor. You have expatriated yourself from your people.</p><p>And as long as you are his, he will never let you forget that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choke

You do not know who you are.

You know that you were formally known as E%ecutor Darkleer.

But you also know that just a few hours ago, you made a mistake.

She was a Disciple of him, of the troll you did manage to execute. She had blindly followed and loved that Signless one, had faithfully transcribed his every last word. She had taken heed to those dangerous words that besmirched the name of the highbloods and shamed everything they stood for. She believed them with every fiber of her being, and so she had to be executed along with him. It was the only way to reclaim the highbloods’ honor, and to restore faith in the caste system.

You had to execute her. You had the arrow’s head trained straight at her. You vaguely felt your thumb brush your cheek as you pulled the string taut, ready to release it and carry out the deed, carry out your duty.

But you hesitated.

You hesitated to look into those bright, large, green eyes; you looked at her as she clung to her dead love’s foolish garb, covered in his disgusting mutant blood. She trembled violently before you, having given up hope after seeing the Signless die before her, and she looked….

She looked lost. She knelt before you, a student without a teacher, a follower without a leader, a Disciple without a mentor; a troll without a purpose. She had nowhere to turn to. She had nowhere to run.

Nor did she have an opportunity to do so.

You pitied her. You pitied her with every last ounce in your body.

So you let her go.

And now you must pay.

You do not know what they will do to you. But you know the life you used to know is no longer an option.

You have disgraced your bloodline. You have disgraced your title. You have disgraced the Archeradicators. You have disgraced your superiors.

But most of all, you have disgraced him.

He summoned for you immediately. Perhaps this was the reason you had not already been swiftly terminated for your insolence. Was it out of fear of what he would do upon hearing of your death, or because the other highbloods knew that whatever he proposed would be a more fitting punishment? The drones that escort you to his chambers mutter predictions of your death, openly wondering exactly how he would snuff out your life. They throw wide sneers in your direction as they speak, trying to let the fear build up inside you, seeing if they can scare you like a trembling frenzy, none better than a feral animal. But you ignore them, unmoved by their mindless jabs.

How foolish of them to think that it was death you feared.

You did not fear death, especially not the thought of it being by his hand.

To kill you would be far too gracious of an act for him to perform.

The drones let you into his throne room, holding the doors open stiffly, hesitant to let even an appendage slip into the room. As you pass by them, you do not look up to see the grimaces on the drones’ faces. You do not look up at the bright walls surrounding you, adjourned with careless splatters of an entire spectrum of colors, looking so mirthful and deceitful and horrifying as the smell of stale blood hits one’s senses. You do not look up at his throne, and you do not see him sitting there expectantly, garbed in black and indigo with jagged black-and-white scars painted across his face. You simply keep your sight trained on the ground, as you are expected to, and cross the room to kneel on one knee before him without a word.

He simply looks at you – you cannot actually see that he is looking at you, but you can almost feel his gaze settled upon you – and he does not speak a word.

His silence was always more troubling than his speech.

You do not say anything either. It is not your place to speak without being spoken to, as his inferior. So you simply kneel at his feet and wait for his next move, wait for your punishment. You are both still for a long time, long enough for your knee to grow numb and for the dread to grow in the pit of your stomach until you feel nauseous from his scrutiny alone.

“NOW WHY.” You twitch as he starts, which was all you let past to betray how much his booming voice had really gotten to you. “why would you go. AND DO A MOTHERFUCKING THING. like that?”

Your head still down, you can see him stand from your peripheral vision. His footsteps echo dauntingly in the quiet space as he slowly walks closer to you. One step. You are completely still, but your eyes quiver wildly with every move he makes. Another step. He is already nearly at you, and as he takes his final step you feel his pant leg brush up against your horns. He stops.

“you ruined everything.”

You don’t have time to answer before he kicks his foot upwards to meet with your face, and you jerk sideways with the force. Your helmet is knocked off and crashes to the ground, but you barely hear it past the ringing in your ears.

“YOU RUINED MOTHERFUCKING EVERYTHING.”

You are not down, but you are on both of your knees now, a hand over your nose as it throbs angrily. Bright drops of blue begin to fall through the gaps of your fingers, and you aren’t sure where you’re bleeding from but you can taste it, bitter and pungent in the back of your throat.

He did not speak again, and you know he is waiting for you to say something. Your mind scrambles for something, anything that would appease him, but you realize that such a phrase is non-existent in this situation. So you swallow your blood, your fear, and head bowed you manage to mutter into your hand, “Forgive me, Highblood.”

You don’t have time to react as his foot comes up again to kick you in the stomach.

“executor.” The Highblood’s actions are eerily undercut by his quiet whisper, his voice forever hoarse from sweeps of abuse, from the sweeps he spent simply screaming at his inferiors. His murmurs were cracked and dry and barely made it past his throat, and it almost seemed to be in exasperation when he would inevitably raise his voice to a roar once more. “I CAN’T MOTHERFUCKING HEAR YOU. how am i supposed to hear anything you say? WHEN YOU’RE MOTHERFUCKING WHINING IT INTO YOUR MOTHERFUCKING HAND? you have to speak up. EXECUTOR.”

You know he wants you to speak, but all you can do is cough. Both of your hands now clutching your stomach in pain, blood spatters the floor freely as you hack and wheeze, desperately trying to regulate your air flow. The Highblood strides towards you again, and you can’t help but flinch as he does so.

“executor.” He rasps, and his hand is suddenly on you, grabbing your chin and jerking your head upwards to look him in the eyes. “MOTHERFUCKING EXECUTOR. i need you to speak up. TELL ME HOW MOTHERFUCKING SORRY YOU ARE. darkleer.”

It’s only when you are looking into his eyes that you feel it. That’s why you try not to. It’s a compulsion so inherent, so strong that you have no choice to follow it. It’s a reckless abandon that comes over you that dissolves all your fears, leaving only bold blackness, and despite your better judgment you can’t help yourself.

You spit in his face.

You don’t know how long he beats you for, but eventually the blows slow to a stop and you’re left doubled over on your side, gasping for breath in a pool of your own blood. The Highblood stands over you emotionlessly, splattered mostly with the hue of your own color, but you notice a few drops of indigo that shouldn’t be there. You wondered how one of his bloodline was so capable of such undignified acts, flailing around in a rage and wounding himself like some rabid beast in need of a swift end. It was one of the reasons you hated him, which was only amplified by the fact that you were his inferior, and it was simply your duty to be accommodating to his erratic behavior.

He kneels by you now, almost seeming tired as he creaks to his knees. You don’t look up at him.

“darkleer.”

You do nothing.

“DARKLEER.” You flinch slightly as your name echoes through his chambers. “motherfucking look at me.”

You don’t want to, you know what feelings will course through your veins; but he is your superior, and orders from your superior must be followed, so you look up at him through narrowed eyes, your brow furrowed stubbornly. The look he gives you is almost rueful, or at least is the most rueful he could ever hope to look.

“YOU’RE A MOTHERFUCKING DISGRACE,” is all he says, and his lips curl in a snarl. “you know that?”

Your expression does not change, you don’t let it, and you feel your anger growing and building up inside you but you can’t stop yourself as your voice creaks out from sweeps of habit: “Yes, Highblood.”

“CAN’T EVEN KILL A MOTHERFUCKING TRAITOROUS GUTTERBLOOD.”

“Yes, Highblood.”

“all you had to do was kill her.”

“Yes, Highblood.”

“JUST DO YOUR MOTHERFUCKING JOB.”

“Yes, Highblood.”

“but you fucked everything up.”

“Yes, Highb-”

“YOU FUCKED IT ALL UP, MOTHERFUCKER.”

His hand shoots out suddenly and he grabs onto your face, hard enough to cut into your cheek, as he forces you onto your back. He’s on top of you just as quickly, and you hiss in frustration because he has you pinned; you know you are probably just strong enough to wrestle him off of you, but you are trapped regardless because it is how it ought to be, because you are his inferior, and because you can feel him getting harder as he straddles you and pushes against you, and you know you can stop this but you can’t.

You can’t move your head in his grip, and you can’t see his face but his horns are bright, wicked spirals jutting out from among a shock of jet black hair. Then all you see is black and white, and his face looms over you. The Highblood’s wild snarl and dark, dilated eyes seem unreal, like something out of a wriggler’s nonsensical sleep terrors, looking more painted on than the jagged markings he covers his face in.

“THEY WANT ME TO KILL YOU, MOTHERFUCKER,” he tells you. His hand moves slowly down your face, drawing painful blue lines into the skin. But the touch is light for him, not even enough pressure to make you bleed, and to you it comes off as almost teasingly. “they all want me to kill you. THE ENTIRE MOTHERFUCKING ROYAL ORDER’S JUST FUCKING ITCHING TO SEE THE WALLS RUN WITH THAT MOTHERFUCKING BLUE OF YOURS, DARKLEER.”

As if to emphasize this, he reaches his hand down and brushes it against a cut on your cheek. Everything about the movement is invasive; he lingers there just a little too long, pushes his finger a little too deep, opens the wound a little too wide, makes the pain feel just a little too crisp. You grit your teeth as he pulls away, a small coat of fresh blue blood on his thumb. Looking you dead in the eyes, he lifts it up to his face and licks it off. You shudder.

You’re suddenly very aware that the hand cupping your face had wandered further down, and was now lightly wrapped around your neck, centered near the top where your head and neck met. His fingers cradle the side of your neck as his thumb traces the raised line of your larynx.

You forget to breathe for a moment as he suddenly presses against the top of your throat, choking you slightly. Instinctual panic surges through you and you gasp inwardly as you struggle to get air into your lungs. You do it, but you can already feel the effects, feel just how much more difficult it is to let air through with his hand pressed against you carefully, precisely.

You know he can feel your struggle, the life coming from the pulse under his fingers because he smirks. It’s only a light twitch upward of his curled lips, but he reveals even more of his jagged fangs and as your vision blurs and un-blurs it’s the one thing you notice: how much more dangerous he looks when he smiles.

He doesn’t let up on your throat as he moves his other hand down, mirrors the two against each other, placing his second thumb just under the first and applying the same amount of pressure. You grit your teeth and you don’t realize your hands are on him until you feel his wrists beneath your palms, his pulse pounding rapidly against yours. You grip him firmly, anger flashing in your eyes and a growl rising in your throat, and you could fight him off of you, you know you could. He looks at you almost in amusement as you glower up at him and you want to fight him so badly, but you’re so hot and your head is already feeling muddled and in frustration you realize your hands shake slightly as they wrap around his wrists, and you hate him and what he’s doing to you, you hate that you’re shaking all over in-

Anticipation.

He laughs lowly, the sound echoing maliciously against the walls, and with his eyes still locked on you he speaks again, first muttering so lowly that you have to strain your ears to hear him.

“i have never. HATED YOU MOTHERFUCKING MORE. than i do right motherfucking now.”

He presses against your throat even harder, and you open your mouth to gasp in pain, only to find that nothing comes out. He squeezes the air out you, crushing your windpipe so you can let nothing else in, and he simply grins as he watches your eyes bulge out in panic. Your mouth is still open, trying to form words that can’t come out, and he takes this opportunity and is on you quickly.

His kisses were always all teeth and tongue, but you can’t even gasp at his bruising assaults with his powerful hands wrapped around your throat, choking you. As his tongue sloppily explores your mouth, his fangs crash into yours roughly. In his fervor they scrape against your lips without care, and you begin to taste your own blood dripping into your mouth.

His grip is steady and firm, and your thoughts are beginning to cloud with lack of air, you’re not completely cut off yet but you know that he can make that change with just a twitch, and with his mouth covering yours you are blocked from letting in the precious little bit of breath you can get.

He suddenly loosens his grip, and your head reels as life is suddenly allowed into your lungs; his tongue is slithering deeper into your mouth and his lips leave very little space, but you breathe through your nose and take in as much as you can.

When the Highblood pulls back slightly, you almost feel ashamed by the sound you make when you can finally _breathe_ again, but you don’t care because it feels so fresh and good and you have to take in as much as you can because you know this can’t be the end.

And with dread you realize you’re correct, because too soon he’s squeezing your throat again and going back in with his mouth on yours. You can’t even groan in pain as he presses mercilessly against your already bruised neck. All you can do is tighten your grip on his wrists and dig in until you can feel your nails breaking the skin, and you can’t see but you can imagine in your mind his regal indigo dripping down your fingers. You can’t control how the thought makes you feel, and you start kissing him back.

Both of you are ravishing each other with no gentleness or finesse in the act; you simply rip into each other fervently, without caution, all teeth. Your mouths move together wetly, wet with blood and saliva, and with his hands around your neck and yours around his wrists it feels like you’re clutching at each other desperately, like you’re all both of you have left, and you don’t care if you have to leave each other bloody and broken in order to keep it.

For several minutes he tortures you, choking you until you’re at your limit and then loosening it and giving you just enough to keep you going before bearing down again, each time feeling heavier than the last. All the while, he’s begun grinding against you, and you’re already hard and you can’t help wanting more.

The Highblood suddenly loosens his grip and lifts off of you all at once, and your entire body quakes as you take in deep, shuddering breaths. He simply looks at you then, and at first through the haze in your own head his expression is unreadable. You try to focus, and by the time you register how dangerously somber he’s gotten, it’s already too late. He’s pressing into your throat, and a new kind of panic overtakes you because all at once the intent feels so much different. He’s pushing so much harder this time, literally crushing your throat with your fingers. He’s closing you up, making sure nothing gets in or out, and he just stares at you without mercy. You look back at him desperately, but know that you will not be able to coerce sympathy from him. It’s up to him to decide whether or not you live, and for once you honestly don’t know what he’s going to choose.

You can feel yourself slipping, and your grip on his wrists starts to loosen against your control, and your hands slip from him to scratch weakly at your own throat. Your vision flashes and blackens around the edges, and you start to lose sight of him, and you realize that this must be it; this is your punishment, this is what you get for your insubordination, a painful and humiliating death at the hands of the one you hate the most.

Just as you start to accept this fact, just as your vision goes completely black, the last thing you see is a glint of teeth, colored with marbles of indigo and blue, and the mixture of white paint and royal blood smudged around his mouth stretches his grin wide across his face. He speaks.

“you’ll die,” he rasps in a whisper, and it’s a miracle you can even hear it with your mind nearly gone. “WHEN I’M GOOD AND MOTHERFUCKING READY. for you to die.”

He releases you.

You’re blinded for a moment as you as you take in that desperately needed breath, your mind flying high as you fill your lungs with life. You cough and sputter violently and your throat is bruised and broken, but you’re _alive_ and at that moment it feels so good.

You don’t question yourself for reaching up with shaking hands and grabbing his face, pulling him down to you and taking his mouth forcefully. You’re too far gone to care, running on pure, black hatred alone. He doesn’t stop you either, because maybe he’s too far gone too, and maybe nothing else matters anymore.

Your tongues lash around each other in a fight for dominance, one that neither of you are willing to give up for a long while, until the Highblood finally pulls away just enough to sneer at you.

“fuckin’ turn over, motherfucker,” is all he says, and he barely even gives you enough time to comply before grabbing your arm and yanking you over, forcing you onto your stomach. You grunt as he places a hand on your back and pushes down on you, keeping you there, and you hear him begin to loosen and pull down his pants with the other.

He hisses in pleasure as he touches himself, and his nails scratch against the armor covering your back. You crane your neck to look over your shoulder, lifting your lip in a snarl. You push yourself up onto your hands and knees and shove yourself against his pelvis, grinding against him lewdly, egging him on until you can hear the low growl rising in his throat, and he moves his hand down to catch the edge of your pants and unceremoniously jerk them down. You’re exposed, and he grinds against you heatedly, groaning thickly. You reserve yourself to a heavy pant, but as he finally thrusts into you a moan escapes you, deep in your throat and drawn out. He laughs, a shuddering, breathy cackle that reverberates against the walls, and one hand digs into your bare hip and draws out thin blue lines, while the other one grabs a fistful of your hair and jerks you backwards, forcing you to take all of him.

You are quiet as you take him, receiving his hate with a discreet dignity, while he snarls and moans above you. His thrusts are erratic and voracious, and as time goes on his composure leaves him and he acts more like a wanton beast in heat than the mighty, esteemed Subjugglator he is heeded as. It fills you with unbridled satisfaction that you are able to bring him to this state, and it only heightens your arousal to know that in some way, you have gotten the upper hand on him.

As he reaches his finish, you wonder briefly why he hasn’t gotten a pail, but then you remember why you’re here to begin with. What respected Subjugglator would fill pails with a traitor to the highblood elite, after all?

You’re too far gone for the reality of this to really hit you, and you can’t bring yourself to care as he reaches release. He continues to pound into you through it, squalling and cursing and moaning unabashedly. His hand releases your hair to join the other one on your waist, so you are free to let your head drop down, and you tuck it into your arm to muffle the moan rising in your throat as you come to your own end, the feeling of being filled to your limit pushing you over the edge.

After his voice has tapered off and you’re both finished, you simply stay there and wait for him to leave you, wait for him to finally give you your deserved punishment, because you know that this isn’t the end. You may be his kismesis, but you are also a traitor, and both of you know that he has a duty to carry out; things that are expected of him.

As if he realizes what you’re thinking, he suddenly grabs and handful of your hair and jerks you backwards again, further this time, until your back is flush against his chest and his mouth is suddenly against your ear. The Highblood flicks his tongue out and slowly drags it along the edge of your ear, and you shudder as he chuckles against you hotly.

“you think you can get away with anything. DON’T YOU, MOTHERFUCKER?”

You swallow, and your voice scrapes against your damaged throat as you reply. “No, Highblood.”

“DON’T MOTHERFUCKING LIE TO ME. darkleer.” You feel him grin against you, and he laughs again. “WELL, MAYBE YOU MOTHERFUCKING CAN AFTER ALL. because i’m going to let you live.”

You grit your teeth as he slowly rasps his tongue against your ear again. “Highblood-”

“you’re real motherfucking good at hiding, i know you are. BUT YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME, YOU UNDERSTAND, MOTHERFUCKER? i’ve got my ways, darkleer. YOU FUCKING KNOW THIS, DARKLEER.”

His voice is almost more intrusive than his tongue is as it explores the folds of your ears eagerly, made worse by the fact that he’s still inside of you, still a part of you and it sends shivers down your spine.

“BUT IF THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS THINK I’M GONNA LET THEM RUIN MY FUCKIN’ FUN. they’ve got another think coming. BECAUSE YOU’RE TOO FUCKING GOOD TO LET GO OF. darkleer.”

You shudder again, and you bear your fangs to no one in particular, and you don’t even know what compels you to speak again, and you’re nearly begging and you can’t even stop it. “Highblood,” you start, and he waits as he bites your ear, breaking into the skin thoughtlessly. “Kill me.”

The Highblood grins against you again and his teeth feel ice cold on your skin. “no.”

\----

Your name is Darkleer. Your title does not matter. The things you’ve done for your superiors, and the Archeradicators, do not matter.

You are a traitor. You have expatriated yourself from your people.

And as long as you are his, he will never let you forget that.


End file.
